


baby thinking of you keeps me up all night

by ballsdeepinjesus



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Kinda, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Rimming, and a weird section where they talk about tom hardy a lot, it's harry's thighs tho don't bitch or i'll smack u, longest thing i've written so far haha, no i won't i'll just cry, so much sex, the ending is so cheesy lmao harry and louis fuck me up, thigh fucking, this may be longer but there's still not really a plot haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballsdeepinjesus/pseuds/ballsdeepinjesus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Louis sputters in response, shaking his head wildly. Harry moves closer, placing his hand on Louis’ chest and trailing it up towards his neck to curve around. “I am younger than you. Bet you like that. Think you can push me around.”</em>
</p><p>  <em>Louis fishmouths, glaring at Harry who reminds him suspiciously of a shark at the moment. He smells blood in the water.</em></p><p>  <em>“Is that what this is about, Louis?” Harry asks. He leans in and fits his mouth against Louis’ earlobe, huffing hot breaths into his ear. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?”</em></p><p> </p><p>[harry is a 19 y/o singer and louis is a 29 y/o actor with no love for teenage popstars.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby thinking of you keeps me up all night

**Author's Note:**

> listen
> 
> idk where this came from
> 
> usually age difference fics are like super underage where harry's like still in the womb and louis is his 70 year old grandfather (no judging), so here's a more legal one???? hope u enjoy

The first time Louis Tomlinson meets Harry Styles, teenage popstar extraordinaire, is at an after party for the premiere of the fourth movie in some film franchise based off of a shitty young adult novel. Louis is angry.

He’s angry at the event planners who decided obnoxious strobe lights and dubstep music were appropriate for an after party. He’s angry at his agent for coercing him to go and make more connections with industry gurus (Apparently it doesn’t matter how respected and critically acclaimed you are as an actor – _everyone_ needs a teenage blockbuster hit under their belt, according to Zayn.). But mostly he’s angry with Harry Styles, the drunken idiot who just sloshed a fruity-looking martini down the front of his Burberry suit jacket. 

Harry had been giggling at something an apparent friend of his had said, but he cuts off with a dramatic gasp when he sees what he’s done. He glances up at Louis’ face and gasps again. 

“Lew—Louis Tumilin…son, I am so, so, _so_ sorry,” he slurs. He pats annoyingly at Louis’ jacket as if his hands will make the stain lift. Louis knocks his hand away and huffs.

“If you can’t handle your fucking liquor – are you even of age? – then you shouldn’t be drinking, British Bieber.”

Louis storms away, ignoring the hurt doe eyes piercing into his back. He calls a cab and waits at the curb, wringing mournfully at the soiled mess that is his suit jacket. Fuck after parties. Fuck Zayn. And fuck Harry Styles.

***

The second time Louis meets Harry is at a decidedly more dignified event. He’s at the launch of a new menswear fashion line, eating hors d’oeuvres and chatting amiably with some friends of his when a sheepish-looking Harry approaches.

“Um, hiiiii,” Harry says, offering Louis a hand. Louis contemplates turning away and ignoring him, but instead he rolls his eyes and pumps his hand once. “I’m Harry.”

“I know who you are. Harry Styles, toddler-aged runner-up in last season’s X-Factor, current teen sensation sweeping the oh-so-fickle nation. Charmed to see you again, Drunky,” Louis deadpans. 

Louis expects Harry to be hurt by what he considers to be those _exceptionally_ biting words, but Harry just smiles placidly.

“I’m nineteen actually, not a toddler. But yes. And you’re Louis Tomlinson, 29-year old BAFTA nominee. I’m a huge fan, absolutely adored your work in _The Lion’s Roar,_ ” he offers.

Louis says nothing, merely raises an eyebrow and sips at his wine. 

Harry isn’t deterred. “Sorry about spilling the drink on you, by the way. I could replace your blazer if you wanted? Looked really lovely on you. Good fit.”

Louis groans and shakes his head. “I’ll survive, Curly. Might wanna save your money. You’re surely headed for flash-in-the-pan status. Enjoy these parties while you can.” Louis knows he’s being a dick, but he’s not too sure he cares. 

Harry, who seems to have the temperament of a happy puppy, shrugs off his insults with a sly grin. “You’ve never listened to my music, have you?” he asks.

“As if.” Louis scoffs into his wine glass and rolls his eyes again. “I like to think I have musical taste that extends further than soppy love songs about wanting to hold hands with a girl.”

Harry narrows his eyes at Louis. “Guess you _really_ haven’t heard any of my music then, mate,” he retorts. “Anyway, I don’t want to piss you off anymore than I have, so…have a lovely evening Louis. I really do admire your work, even if you don’t admire mine.” Harry gives him a small smile and turns, heading to the middle of the room.

And…well. Louis feels a little regretful. Only a little.

He bites his lip and turns towards the group he had been talking to earlier. He really needs to stop going to these events.

***

A week later Louis finds out that Harry’s doing the main song on the soundtrack of his new film. Feeling irate, he calls Zayn.

“What are you calling to yell at me for this time, Tommo?” Zayn asks dispassionately after he picks up on the ninth ring. Louis sometimes thinks he should get an agent who’s a little more eager to engage in conversation.

“Fuck you, Malik, I want to talk about Harry Styles. Harry _Fucking_ Styles is doing a song on the soundtrack? I was under the impression that this was a serious flick, Zayn, not fodder for the entire teenage population,” Louis rants. “I’m trying to be a serious actor, man. I’ve _just_ broken out of being typecast in comedies. I think this counts as a bit of a setback.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end. Louis has his suspicions that Zayn’s pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration on the other end. Prick.

“Lou, first of all, Styles is actually really bloody talented. Second, you really need to remove that gigantic, splintering stick from your arse. Dozens of actors were willing to give blood sacrifices to get your role in this film. It’s going to be good,” he replies. 

Louis groans and twirls around in his kitchen, thumping his forehead against the microwave.

“I’m trusting you on this one, Zayn. This better not backfire.”

***

There’s a break in filming that allows Louis to go home for the weekend and visit his mum and his sisters. Truthfully, he doesn’t go home nearly as often as he wishes he could. Sometimes he worries that his sisters are growing up with the brother they see on the screen rather than the actual him.

As a surprise, Louis heads up to Daisy and Phoebe’s school Friday afternoon to pick them up. He parks at the curb and gets out, putting on a pair of sunglasses and leaning against the side of the car. The final bell rings and less than a minute later the doors burst open, streams of excited kids trailing out. He searches through their faces until he sees two bright blonde heads walking side by side. They come out to the sidewalk and look around in confusion for their mum’s car.

“Excuse me misses, I’m here to pick up Daisy and Phoebe Tomlinson,” he says.

The girls’ heads whip around and they let out excited screeches when they see it’s Louis.

“Louis!” They run to wrap their tiny arms around Louis’ waist and he laughs as he’s pressed into the car.

“Hello, darlings. How do you feel about some ice cream from Sandra’s?” he offers. The girls cheer excitedly as Louis opens the backdoor for them to climb in.

On the way to the ice cream shop, Louis turns on the radio and plays some of the popular hits station for the girls while they chat. After some upbeat song about big booties that Louis would have turned off if he was a more responsible caretaker, some soulful ballad begins. The man singing has a husky voice, crooning about hiding in the shadows about who you really are and the longing for freedom or something. Truth be told, Louis is paying less attention to the words than the way the man’s voice is sending a weird thrill through his body. He has no idea who’s singing, but he’s willing to bet that he’d sleep with him, no questions asked.

Phoebe chatters excitedly in the backseat about how much she loves this song. Louis thinks it’s a little too deep for her ten-year old tastes, but says nothing.

“I love him so much. Mum says she might buy us a poster of him for our birthday next month,” Daisy says.

Louis quirks his mouth into a small grin. “Who is this, then? Don’t recognize him to be honest.”

“Are you _daft_ Louis?” Phoebe hisses. Louis frowns and bites back the reprimand on his tongue. “That’s Harry Styles. He’s even more famous than you are.”

Louis has to clamp down on the steering wheel to keep himself from swerving into traffic. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” he cries.

Daisy and Phoebe gasp in tandem and turn to give each other shocked stares. 

“We’re telling mum you cursed, Lou! You’ll be grounded for sure.”

He’s almost thirty so he doubts that, but – Harry Styles. The voice Louis was planning on jacking off to tonight belongs to _Harry Styles_.

Fuck.

***

Louis does _not_ look Harry up on YouTube that night.

He does the next night, though.

***

They meet again at another party. Louis doesn’t even know what it’s for this time, he just knows he’s trashed and he’s got a tall, drunk, very, very pretty – fuck, _so_ pretty, how did he never notice? – Harry Styles in front of him. Harry’s wearing what Louis suspects are jeggings, a plaid shirt that’s more unbuttoned than buttoned, and a headscarf adorned with what looks to be a print of eyeglasses.

Before he can speak, Louis says, “Harry Styles, born February 1, 1994 in Cheshire. Son to Anne, brother to Gemma, owns a cat named Muffy because your mum wouldn’t let you take her cat Dusty with you when you moved to London. Sings songs that are decidedly _not_ about wanting to hold some girl’s hand, sorry about that.”

Harry wobbles in front of Louis in confusion. “That’s, er, yes?”

Louis just nods wisely. “I looked you up—,”

“Obviously,” Harry replies. 

“—Jerked off to one of your songs the other night,” Louis finishes.

Harry had been taking a sip of his beer, but he spits it off to the side – thankfully away from Louis’ blazer – and drenches some poor girl beside him. He mutters slurred apologies but she stomps away in outrage, flipping him the middle finger on her way out. Harry turns back to Louis and eyes him suspiciously. 

“Are you taking the piss?” he asks.

“Nah, mate. Probably wouldn’t have told you that if I was sober, but regardless; yes, I came to you singing about flower fields.”

Harry bites his lower lip to try and smother his smile, but Louis sees his dimple peeking through. He reaches over to poke at it gently. “Like a fuckin’ crater, that is.” Harry grabs hold of Louis’ finger and swings it in front of him.

“Do you want to dance, Louis?”

***

Louis wakes up the next morning, head throbbing with a monstrous hangover. His clothes are scattered all over his floor, and his dresser mirror has the words “why” scrawled across in black sharpie. Interesting.

He waddles over to his bathroom and rinses the taste of dead animals out of his mouth. He hasn’t drank this much in awhile. Flashes of memories from the night before flicker through his brain – shots of tequila, nachos, lots of vodka, Harry, kissing Harry…

Well. That’s new, Louis thinks.

Louis doesn’t remember much of the details, but he doesn’t think it was particularly great. Harry and him had been dancing rather enthusiastically to some 90s song when Louis grabbed him and pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. He thinks he missed most of Harry’s mouth, and considering how large and lovely Harry’s mouth is, that seems to be quite the feat. 

Regardless, he kissed Harry. He’s not as regretful as he thinks he should be.

Louis grabs his phone which he thankfully had the foresight to charge before he passed out last night. He has 5 unread texts from Zayn.

_did u forget i came here with u lou where the fuck did u go_

_thought u didnt like hair boy_

_just got video of u doing the macarena. blackmail :P_

_let the records show that u just attacked harrys face and then puked on the dancefloor_

_ur an idiot im taking u home_

Louis ignores all of them, muttering curses under his breath at Zayn for being a twat. There’s one text from an unknown number though that simply says, “ _you puked on my shooooooooooes lewis are we even now????_ ” There are several cat emojis after that.

So. Louis has Harry’s number now. Cool.

***

Harry comes to visit Louis’ set the week after their drunken escapade. He’s supposed to spend a few days getting acquainted with the film in order to get the proper _feeling_ he needs to record the song for the soundtrack. It sounds rather idiotic to Louis, but alas. Artistry.

He sees Harry at the food table at the start of his break.

“We meet again, Harold,” he says. 

Harry grins, pleased, and loads a plate up with fruit salad. He already has his other hand filled with two oranges and a banana in his pocket – Louis inwardly snickers – but he doesn’t question it. His come probably tastes really lovely if he eats all of those fruits. _He’s nineteen,_ Louis reminds himself. _Bad thoughts._

“I really like the look of this movie, Lou. Your scene earlier was phenomenal. I know you weren’t really taking me seriously that one time we talked, but I really do admire your talent,” Harry admits.

Heat rises in Louis’ face as he shrugs off the compliment. “I think we’ve already established that I, uh, _admire_ your work too, Harry.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows and cocks his head in Louis’ direction. “Did we?” he asks.

Louis bites his lip and looks away, shoving his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “I may have told you some things the other night,” he answers.

Harry stares at him for a few minutes and Louis can almost see the wheels turning in his head until, ah, yes, Harry’s eyes clear and he absolutely _guffaws_. Louis is torn between horror and amazement at the sound that comes out of his mouth.

“Forgot that you said that, mate. Cheers,” Harry says good-naturedly, bumping his hip against Louis.

Louis can do this. He can be friends with Harry Styles.

***

Louis isn’t sure he can be friends with Harry Styles.

Harry’s in his trailer on the last day of his set visit, arguing with Louis about football. Not supporting his club would have been bad enough, but _no_ Harry Styles _doesn’t like footie._

“I’m just saying, Lou, it’s not nearly as exciting as everyone makes it out to be. All sports are, really, unless we’re talking golf, which is highly underrated by just about everyone,” Harry argues.

“You’re a child, Harry,” Louis says. “Why are you playing an old man’s sport?”

“I’m not a child, Louis!” Harry’s eyes narrow as a devious smirk slowly appears on his face. “The fact that you keep bringing up my age, though…are you sure you don’t have a fetish, darling?”

Louis sputters in response, shaking his head wildly. Harry moves closer, placing his hand on Louis’ chest and trailing it up towards his neck to curve around. “I am younger than you. Bet you like that. Think you can push me around.”

Louis fishmouths, glaring at Harry who reminds him suspiciously of a shark at the moment. He smells blood in the water.

“Is that what this is about, Louis?” Harry asks. He leans in and fits his mouth against Louis’ earlobe, huffing hot breaths into his ear. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?”

And honestly, how did it get to this point, Louis wonders. They were talking about _footie_ for fuck’s sake, and then Harry goes all seductive vixen on him, and – oh, Harry’s hands are pulling at his zipper.

Louis merely watches as Harry gently tugs at his jeans, sliding them off his thighs and onto the floor. The cool breeze from the A/C in Louis’ trailer tickles his bare thighs; Louis can see goosebumps rise to the surface.

Harry runs his hands along Louis’ thighs and hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs. With little resistance on Louis’ end, Harry slides them past Louis’ arse and throws them on top of his discarded jeans. Louis is half-hard from this alone, cock growing against his hip bone. Harry leans down and blows air against his thighs, his hipbones, and finally his cock. 

"Harry, we’ve hardly even _flirted_ , don’t you think this is moving a little fast?" Louis pants.

Harry just smirks, mouth held open over Louis’ cock.

"Funnily enough, I used to watch your movies and wank myself off when I was younger, Lou. Still do, actually. So no, this has been a long time coming, babe. Now, if you’ll excuse me—."

Harry takes the tip of Louis’ cock into his mouth – just the tip – and suckles on it, slowly running his tongue around the sensitive head. 

Louis throws his head back against the arm of the couch and resists the urge to force himself farther into Harry’s mouth. Suddenly his head fills with images of thrusting into Harry’s face, cock buried in his throat, eyes streaming and wet, and actually, no, that sounds like a really fucking good idea. 

He looks down at the boy and studies his face in awe; Harry’s cheekbones are highly underrated by everyone, Louis thinks. With his lips wrapped around his dick they’re especially pronounced. When all of this is over a part of him wants to grab some paint and capture the image on canvas. Louis isn’t even an artist.

Harry just keeps staring at Louis, pupils blown and focused on Louis’ face while he leisurely sucks as if he’s waiting for something. 

Louis brings a hand down to poke at Harry’s dimple, thinking back briefly to that drunken night a week ago when he did the same, but this time he keeps his thumb there, pressing down against his cheek. He can feel the slide of his cock against his thumb and – _fuck_ – it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever felt. Harry leans his cheek into the touch, nuzzling his face into Louis’ hand as much as he can with his mouth stuffed full of cock. He hums a satisfied buzzing noise that sounds like a sigh as he closes his eyes. Louis has never seen anyone so content to suck him off before. 

Louis threads his hands through Harry’s curls, lightly massaging the pads of his fingers into his scalp. Harry hums again in pleasure. Louis can’t help but think that this entire act is somehow therapeutic for Harry. He lets his fingers sweep through once more and then yanks, hard, tugging him off his cock. Harry’s eyes fly open as he gasps, moaning noisily and bringing one big hand down to curve around his clothed cock. Harry’s eyes are big and glassy, his cheeks flushed and such a pretty pink color, highlighted by the smooth paleness of his skin. Louis feels overwhelmed by just how much Harry looks his age at this moment; young and needy, innocent yet debauched at the same time. 

Louis rubs his thumb over Harry’s lower lip, smoothing his own stickiness across; Harry’s tongue darts out to lap at it gently and Louis is done. He tugs Harry back down to his cock, pressing him down as quickly as he can without choking him completely. Harry moans and presses his head against Louis’ hand, begging for him to take the lead. Louis twists his fingers through his hair and tugs Harry’s head down and up, down and up, in a rhythmic, fast-paced cycle. Harry’s moaning uncontrollably like he’s actually getting off on being used and, _fuck_ Louis has to stop that train of thought right there or he’ll come. Louis starts hitching his hips up with every push of Harry’s head until he’s literally fucking Harry’s mouth. Harry just takes it, hooded eyes locked on Louis’ narrowed slits, nostrils flaring as he struggles to breathe. 

It’s too much. Louis feels his orgasm stirring in his body, toes curling into the cushion beneath his feet. His hands fall away from Harry’s hair and scratch at the couch as his hips thrust up uncontrollably.

Harry pulls away, ignoring Louis’ angry groan, keeping a fist curled around Louis’ cock to pump rapidly. “I know this is a little pornstar-ish,” he says, and God, his voice is _shot_ , raspier than he’s ever heard it before, “But…I want you to come on my face. Wanna feel it.”

Louis gasps when Harry places the head of his cock against his lower lip, and then he stills, cock twitching and jerking against Harry’s mouth. He fights to keep his eyes open and watches as streaks of come cover Harry’s lips, his chin, his right cheek, his -- _fuck_ \-- his dimple. 

Harry grins when Louis finishes, taking a finger and licking Louis’ come into his mouth.

“You could probably do with eating a little more fruit, Tomlinson, but this isn’t bad,” Harry says.

“Do you always comment on the taste of guys’ come when you finish sucking them off, Harry?” Louis asks. He stares at the ceiling in wonder, marveling at the fact that a bloody popstar teenager just sucked him dry. Amazing.

“Only the fit ones,” Harry responds. Louis rolls his eyes and scans them over Harry’s body. There’s a wet patch on Harry’s jeans, barely visible against the black fabric, but –

“Did you…?” Louis says, flicking his gaze between Harry’s face and his pants.

“Uh, yes,” Harry answers. “You’re really hot. Sorry.”

Louis laughs and tugs Harry over to lie against his chest. “That’s quite alright, Harry. Don’t think I have the energy to even watch you wank off right now. Naptime.”

Harry groans, pushing against Louis’ chest as he gets up. “Such a typical man, you are. But as much as I’d love to cuddle, I have a meeting in an hour and I desperately need to stop at home and switch jeans.”

Louis pouts but Harry doesn’t give in. “I’ve got more responsibilities than getting you off and napping, Lou.”

“Whatever, Styles. Was going to do some dirty things to your cock when I woke up, but that’s fine. Leave me,” he says.

Harry actually looks reluctant as he walks towards the doors, pausing to place a kiss on Louis’ lips. Another time.

***

“Zayn, how much shit would I cause if, hypothetically, I was involved with a younger man?”

“Louis, you’re not even out. How much shit do you think you would cause?” Zayn answers.

Louis hums in response, twirling the strings of his shoelaces in one hand while he stares at his phone in the other. Harry had texted him a picture of him eating a banana earlier and captioned it with, “ _thinking of you_."

“Who is this hypothetical boy you’re cradle-robbing?” 

Louis glances up towards Zayn and winces. “Hypothetically…Harry Styles.”

Zayn looks less surprised than he should be, but then Zayn’s face is always a bit hard to read. Granted, he was the one who caught Louis drunkenly mauling Harry’s face a couple weeks ago, but Louis had hoped he’d have forgotten that. Apparently not.

“Hypothetically, that would be a fucking shit storm, Lou. He’s not out, you’re not out. He’s a baby, you’ve got a foot in the grave already,” Zayn states, ignoring the pillow Louis chucks at his head. “Are you guys actually dating now?”

Louis ponders the question. He hasn’t seen Harry since the day in the trailer, since both of their schedules were remarkably busy, but they’ve been texting pretty much non-stop. Louis now has a dick shot of Harry in the gallery of his phone too. It’s definitely not his phone background. 

“We haven’t talked about it, Zayn. He gave me a blowjob a week or so ago, but we haven’t seen each other since,” Louis admits, heaving out a deep sigh and burrowing himself into the sofa.

“I suggest you do, Lou. Ask him what he wants. I’d support you in doing anything you want with your personal life, babe, you know that,” Zayn replies. 

Sometimes when Louis is in an especially crotchety mood he forgets that Zayn is his best friend, first and foremost, above being his agent. He mentally thanks himself one more time for letting the young man with the empty resume get the job as his agent and not the old stodgy dick who yapped about marketing him as a ladykiller or sommat. 

“I will, Zayn. Thank you.”

***

It’s a Saturday night and Louis doesn’t have the heart to go out. He’s bored, hungry, and more than a little horny, so he pulls out his phone to flip through his contacts.

_i know youre a hotshot young celeb but is there any chance youre free tonight im hungry and im gonna watch a bunch of tom hardy moves and wank u in ?_

Louis only has to wait minutes for a response, half-expecting a “sry busy :(.” 

_absolutely. hour from now?_

Louis can’t stop himself from doing a victorious fist bump in the air. _i’ll order some food_

***

An hour and an entire menu of Chinese delivery later, Louis’ doorbell rings. He tries not to run to the door, instead managing a very brisk walk. Harry’s there, wearing some ridiculous outfit – torn black jeans, an extremely oversized army green button up covered with suspicious white stains (probably paint, but Louis lets his imagination drift) on top of another plaid flannel and then ratty brown boots. Completing the look is that absurd headscarf again. He looks homeless, honestly, but a kind of endearing homelessness.

“Did you dig that outfit out of the trash?” Louis says in lieu of a greeting.

“Thanks babe, you look lovely as well,” Harry responds. He waits in the doorway until Louis realizes he’s just standing there and moves aside to shoo him in.

“It’s kind of cute, though. I’d still fuck you,” Louis admits.

Harry smirks and leans against the wall. “Is that what this is about then? A booty call, as the young kids say?” Harry asks.

“You _are_ a young kid, twat. And I’ll have you know that this is perfectly innocent. I have a stack of movies and about fifteen cartons worth of food waiting for us in the living room. I don’t want my cock anywhere near you,” Louis huffs, leading the way into the other room.

“I doubt you’ll be saying that by the end of the night.”

“Watch me, Styles,” Louis replies. He tosses himself down on the couch, grabbing a carton of fried rice and fork, and waits for Harry to sit next to him to plop his legs over his lap.

Harry raises his eyebrows and blinks down at Louis’ legs. “Cozy.”

Louis presses play on _Bronson_ \-- he can’t resist the promise of a cock shot, no matter how odd Tom looks in the flick – and digs in, studiously ignoring Harry. 

Harry accepts Louis using him as a glorified footstool for the first half of the movie, too focused on his food to complain, but he gets restless eventually, after he places his food down and has nothing to occupy his hands with. Louis pretends not to notice as Harry starts smoothing his hands on Louis’ calf, tickling the hairs of his legs.

“I like hairy men,” Harry says. 

Louis blinks twice and glances at Harry. “Okay…”

“Sorry, just…his mustache in this film. And that beard he was sporting for awhile? The really bushy one? That was hot. Met him at a party once when he had it, almost dropped to my knees right then and there,” Harry rambles.

Louis ignores the twinge of jealously in his gut as he cocks his head and gives Harry an amused look of confusion. “Thanks for your admission, Harry. I’ll commence growing a hobo beard immediately for your pleasure, unless you’d rather find someone hairier than me. I won’t stand between you and Tom.”

Harry giggles and shakes his head. “No, I like your stubble the way it is. It’s not just hair though. Think I like masculine men. Or, like, older men,” he says, flicking his eyes to Louis with a mischievous smirk. 

Louis plays along, prodding Harry’s thigh with his toe. “Older men, eh? Not sure I know any of them. What do you like about them, though?”

“Hmmm…the experience, definitely. Need a man who knows how to fuck, y’know?” Harry asks.

Louis gulps and nods. “Yes, yes I know.”

“Kinda hot too isn’t it? I mean I’m of age so it isn’t creepy or anything, but like, I don’t know, I like the idea of keeping someone young. Preferably with my sexual prowess.”

Louis throws his head back and cackles at that, clutching at his stomach. “You’re an idiot. ‘Sexual prowess,’ God, get away from me. Watch the movie.”

Harry pouts, scratching at Louis’ legs. “You don’t want to fuck? I thought I was seducing you,” he complains. Louis scoffs and kicks his foot against Harry. 

“You’ll have to work a little harder for it, Styles. Watch the fucking movie, I said.”

***

Three movies later, it’s two in the morning and Louis should be tired. He’s not though, veins buzzing with excitement of Harry’s proximity. Harry’s tired, though, yawning comically and stretching his arms out above his head.

“’s getting late, Lou,” he says. Louis tries to cover his disappointed frown.

“Yeah, yeah. Guess you should get going,” he replies.

Harry gazes at him, face unreadable. “Well, I mean, I’m like, _so_ tired, Louis. Didn’t you see me yawning? I can’t be trusted to drive at this hour. I might _die_.”

Louis’ mouth twists in confusion. “I could call you a cab?” he asks.

“Lost my wallet,” Harry responds immediately. Louis can see the shape of it in the back pocket of his jeans. “I think…I should really stay here tonight, don’t you?”

Oh. _Oh._

Louis can play this game.

“Ah, yeah mate, you’re right. I have a perfectly cozy guest room for you to sleep in, come on,” he says. He gets up and heads towards the stairs, not allowing Harry to protest. Harry follows slowly until they’re outside the guest bedroom door. Louis swings the door open and gestures inside. “There you go, Harry. There’s a bathroom attached to your room, should have some spare toothbrushes and stuff. Let me know if you need anything.” And with that he walks away to his room. 

He brushes his teeth quickly and disrobes down to his briefs, climbing into bed. He tinkers with his phone as he waits.

Minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” he calls.

Harry peeks his head sheepishly into the room. “What would you say if I said I can’t sleep alone because I get horrible night terrors, so I _desperately_ need to sleep with you?”

Louis rolls his eyes and pats the space on the bed next to him. “Get in, you liar.”

Harry steps through the doorway, shutting the door closed behind him. Louis runs his eyes over Harry’s lithe body and stifles a moan. He’s covered in tattoos that look like they were done in prison (yet somehow they really, _really_ work for him) and he’s only wearing a skimpy pair of striped boxer briefs that cling to his upper thighs. Harry pauses when he gets to the bed, looking like he’s contemplating his next move. Louis is about to question him when – oh. Harry’s stripping his underwear off, letting them pool at his feet as he steps out and kicks them off to the side. Louis doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s staring at his cock. His lovely, wonderful, beautiful fucking cock. He can feel his mouth watering.

“Forgot to mention I sleep naked,” Harry says with a grin as he slides into bed beside Louis. 

There are a few beats of tense silence after Louis places his phone on the bedside table. The lamp is still on, but he doesn’t feel like turning it off yet.

Harry is finally the one to break the silence.

“We’re going to do something, aren’t we? Was I not dropping enough hints?” he asks. He sounds saddened by that fact.

Louis snorts and shuffles to his side, staring at Harry. 

“Kiss me, you fool,” he says.

Harry giggles into his mouth as their lips collide. At first it’s just gentle presses of their lips and subtle hints of their tongues, but it doesn’t stay innocent for long. Louis rolls on top of Harry, straddling his hips and tangling his tongue further into his mouth. It’s messy and uncoordinated, but that’s kind of the way most things are with Harry. Louis thinks he likes it. Louis breaks the kiss to lick along Harry’s jaw.

“Your jawline is to die for, you know that?” he murmurs into his skin.

“Look who’s talking,” Harry groans, pressing his hips up and – ah. 

“Little eager there, aren’t we darling?” Louis asks, rocking against Harry’s cock which is slowly – no, make that quickly – hardening against Louis’ hip. “Such a teenager.”

“You love it,” Harry growls, clutching at Louis’ hips. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis mumbles, rocking gently against the thick line of Harry’s cock. He doesn’t allow too much friction, however, as he quickly slides down trail his hands over Harry’s body. Everything about Harry is just really _nice_ Louis thinks. Harry’s legs are long and skinny, but finely muscled, and his thighs are fleshy and firm. Louis thinks of all the things those thighs could do, hooked around his hips as he fucks him, flexing as he rides him, but there’s another thing, something he saw in some porno when he was younger, and—“Do you trust me?” Louis asks.

Harry doesn’t hesitate, just shakes his head immediately in affirmation. “Flip over then, love.” Harry does as he’s told while Louis shimmies out of his briefs and reaches over into the drawer by his bed and takes out a half-empty bottle of lube. 

He pours a large puddle into his hand and rubs it in between his palms. Then he reaches down and smoothes his hands over Harry’s inner thighs. Harry jerks at the unexpected point of contact and flicks his gaze over his shoulder to give Louis a confused look. Louis gives him a reassuring smile in response until Harry nods once and turns his head back to hang between his shoulders. Louis slathers his cock up with more of the lube and then moves to fit himself behind Harry. He rubs himself over Harry’s thighs and his hole, his arse and his balls, and then settles in the upper recesses of his inner thighs.

“Now, clench your thighs together real tight for me, baby,” he croons, rubbing circles into Harry’s lower back. Harry complies, bringing his thighs together until, fuck, he’s squeezing Louis’ cock tightly. The pressure isn’t nearly as overwhelming as it would be if he was inside Harry, and it’s not as wet as Harry’s mouth, but something about it is unbearably erotic. Slowly, he begins to thrust. His cock slides smoothly in between the slicked up skin of Harry’s thighs, and Louis can feel the head of his cock rubbing at the base of Harry’s.

Harry is letting out confused whimpers, as if he’s unsure why he’s enjoying the sensation as much as he is. Louis rubs at Harry’s back and then clenches Harry’s hips in his hands, digging the blunt edges of his nails into his hipbone.

Harry lets out a wavering moan, falling onto his elbows and shoving his face into Louis’ pillow. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, Harry, so tight around me. Can only imagine how tight you’re gonna be when I’m inside you, baby,” Louis moans. 

“Yeah, Lou, want it, want you to fuck me,” Harry cries. Louis has no doubts that it’ll happen soon enough, but for now this will more than suffice. He spreads his hands across Harry’s little arse and squeezes the flesh, massaging the skin. Harry whimpers underneath him and tightens his thighs even more as he presses his arse into his hands. 

Louis draws a hand back and slaps lightly at his right cheek. He watches it bounce lightly as Harry gasps and wiggles beneath him. He trails his other hand down to squeeze the outside of one of Harry’s thighs. Harry’s shuddering uncontrollably like he’s overstimulated by all the attention.

“Your thighs are sensitive, aren’t they Harry?” Louis asks, trailing his nails over the skin. Harry just nods as much as he can with his face pressed against the pillow. Louis doubles the efforts on his thrusts, giving Harry’s arse little slaps with every few pushes. The pleasure of his cock sliding in between his legs is indescribable – there’s something oddly illicit about what they’re doing that Louis can’t describe. Too soon, he feels that recognizable stirring in his gut, signaling the start of his orgasm. He gets in five more solid thrusts until he’s coming, spilling ropes of come in between Harry’s thighs. Harry whines, his own cock swollen and bobbing in between his legs. Louis grips him in a loose hand and only needs to jerk a few times until Harry’s tensing and spilling onto the sheets before him with a hoarse cry. Harry rolls onto his back and pants as Louis collapses in between him and the wall. 

They’re silent, catching their breaths as they come down from their highs. Harry’s the first to speak.

“I have Louis Tomlinson’s come all over my thighs,” Harry sighs, staring at the ceiling in content amazement. Louis giggles tiredly and buries his face into Harry’s chest.

“Yeah, well I have Harry Styles’ jizz on my sheets. Gonna sell these on eBay, love,” he laughs. Harry lets out a cute snort and runs his hands along Louis’ back, rubbing at his aching muscles.

“Think you might have a hard time explaining that one, mate,” Harry says. He smiles and then bites his lip, looking uncharacteristically shy. “Do you think we can keep doing this, Lou?” Harry whispers. Louis doesn’t like his tone; he sounds like he’s afraid of the answer, as if having Louis rub off in between his thighs wasn’t affirmation enough of Louis’ interest.

“Of course, babe. That was the best orgasm I’ve had since…well. Awhile,” Louis admits.

Harry wiggles slightly in tired excitement, tapping his fingers all over his back. Louis leans his head up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth, but Harry sidesteps him, rubbing his wet lips against Louis’ cheek and murmuring, “Y’know…this whole age difference thing…do you want me to call you Daddy?”

Louis’ nose wrinkles in distaste as Harry dissolves into giggles, nosing at Louis’ neck.

"Don’t ever do that, H," Louis groans.

Harry moves his head back and peers at Louis curiously. “H?”

Louis flushes and rolls his eyes, replying, “Harry’s a dumb name. H sounds better.”

Harry just smiles softly and closes his eyes, pulling Louis closer to him. “Can you be the big spoon?”

***

Louis wakes up the next morning with a mouthful of hair and arms full of sweaty boy. He thinks he could get used to this.

***

The problem with keeping up a secret relationship with someone as equally famous and busy as himself is that there’s hardly time to actually be together. Louis doesn’t even know if what he and Harry have can be considered a relationship, since they haven’t had the time to sit down and talk about it. Their stolen moments together usually consist of cuddles and blowjobs.

Harry still has to go on platonic PR dates with eligible young female celebrities (although he texts Louis constantly throughout each of them, complaining about how bored he is and how much he’d rather have Louis’ cock in his mouth) and Louis works longer hours than ever as filming for his movie ends and editing and reshoots begin. Before Louis knows it, the premiere is in a week and he’s being coached on how to answer questions about the film he’ll receive in press junkets and the red carpet. Both of them are busy, busy, busy, and Louis’ grown frustrated with the fact that he hasn’t fucked Harry yet.

He’s not that shallow of course, he misses Harry’s dorky jokes and warm hugs more than he resents the fact that they haven’t actually _fucked_ -fucked, but as a normal man with a steady sex drive, the sexual tension between them is driving him insane. 

Zayn calls him out on his grumpiness a few days before the premiere. 

“Louis, can you try at least smiling when you’re at the premiere? Your boy will be there anyway, I don’t know why you’re being so emo about this,” Zayn says.

That stops Louis in his tracks from where he’d been intending to slap Zayn in the unmentionables. “Harry’s going to be there?” he asks.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No he didn’t fucking tell me, that wanker,” Louis complains, pulling out his phone.

_WHY didnt u tell me u were going to the premiere ??_

_**i wanted it to be a surprise :((** _

Louis fights the grin that’s struggling to escape.

_**can i sit next to you in the theater?** _

_no funny business_

_**never :P** _

***

The day of the premiere arrives and Louis is buzzing with excitement at premiering his new film and seeing Harry for the first time in two weeks. Harry had to go to LA to finish recording for his new album and only got back the other day for the premiere.

Louis walks the red carpet with pride, peeking his head around for a sight of his favorite boy.

A female interviewer catches his attention by screeching “Louis!’ until he turns to her.

“Hello, love, just a few questions for you,” she begins. “The most important one is: are you single? You’re rather like George Clooney, darling, eternally unattached,” she says, laughing.

Louis plasters a fake grin on his mouth as he answers, “There’s someone special, yeah. I like them a lot.”

“Oooh, mystery!” the woman chatters. “Now, I’d like to know what you think about Harry Styles writing a song for the film? Did you meet him? Was he a huge prat like the papers say?”

Louis frowns as he tries not to glare at the woman. “Dunno what papers you’ve been reading, love, but Harry is perfectly lovely. I’ve met him many times, actually. His song is phenomenal, if it doesn’t eventually win an Oscar then I quit, honestly. He’s very, very talented. I was blown away by him,” Louis fights the urge to add “literally” at the end of the sentence. He knows he has a stupidly fond expression on his face, the one Zayn always laughs at him for, calling it his “lovesick puppy” look, but he can’t help it. It’s Harry.

Later on, Louis finally catches sight of Harry at the end of the carpet. He’s wearing a smart suit paired with a heart print Burberry shirt that has Louis salivating. He looks like he poured himself into his jeans and Louis wants nothing more than to tug him off to the side and, well, _tug him off_ so to speak.

“Hiya, Harry,” he says, bopping him with his hip.

Harry turns and grins, gathering Louis in a hug. He’d like a kiss, but…cameras. He settles for the knowing glint in Harry’s eyes that tells him he’s wishing for the same. Later.

They walk the rest of the carpet together, fielding each other’s questions, much to the dismay of Zayn and Harry’s publicist. 

When they get inside they sit next to each other, just as Louis promised. They settle into their seats as the light dims and then covertly hold hands over their arm rests.

The first half of the movie is good, Louis had seen the final cut days before, but it’s nice to take note of the reactions from the crowd. Halfway through, however, there’s a brief love scene between Louis and his female counterpart. He feels the hold of Harry’s hand tighten and then Harry’s moving it away. Louis looks at him concerned, hoping he’s not going to be irrational about this, but then he feels his hand again. On his thigh.

Harry trails his hand along the inner seam of his suit pants, tickling lightly at he moves. Louis just watches it in the dark, lit up occasionally by the movie screen, as it moves south. Louis tries not to jolt when his hand makes contact with his crotch, but he flinches into the touch throwing Harry a panicked look. Harry smirks and looks away to face the screen again, letting his hand have free roam. He curves his hand over Louis’ bulge and cups it, massaging lightly until it comes to life beneath him, swelling in his palm. 

Louis’ breath hitches; all he can do is stare down at Harry’s hand and hope no one turns to look at them. Thankfully he’s sitting at the end of the row so no one is seated on his other side to see.

Harry quickens his pace, rubbing rhythmic circles into Louis’ crotch until Louis begins to hitch his hips up for more friction. He can feel his erection stretching at the seam of his pants, and he knows that if Harry keeps this up, he’ll come. He can’t walk past the paps at the end of the night with a wet spot in the crotch of his suit trousers. He’d literally kill Harry.

With all of his mustered willpower, he tugs Harry’s hand off of his crotch. Harry sulks, pouting his lip at Louis but he just rolls his eyes, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to the loo. Meet me there in five.”

With that, he stands up and leaves, rushing to the bathroom. Hopefully no one in the theater notices that the star of the movie just left his own premiere, but he also doesn't really care. He’s desperate to get off and everyone else can go fuck themselves.

He waits for a few minutes until a pink-cheeked Harry peeks his head into the room. When he sees it’s just Louis in there he breathes a sigh of relief and walks in, locking the door behind him. 

“You’re such a fucking dick!” Louis cries, latching his hands onto the lapels of Harry’s suit jacket and pulling him close. Harry merely smirks, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“If you didn't like it, then why’d you pull me in here?” he says, breathing into Louis’ mouth. Louis pulls him close and presses their lips together, tangling his tongue in his mouth. He pushes at Harry’s jacket to drag it off and throws it onto the floor.

“That was an expensive jacket, Lou,” Harry murmurs, moving his lips down to suck at Louis’ exposed neck.

“Makes up for the one you ruined. Take your pants off,” he orders. 

Harry does as he’s told, kicking his shoes off and then his trousers, throwing them on top of his jacket. Then he sets to work on Louis’ suit, unbuttoning his shirt at a tortuously slow pace.

“What are we gonna do, Lou? What do you want to do?” he asks.

“Well I’d really love to fuck you, Harry, but we don’t have what we need for that,” Louis says wiggling his fingers in front of his face. 

Harry bites his lip and moves to pick his trousers back up. He takes out his wallet and searches through it until he removes a condom and what appears to be a sachet of lube. Louis raises his eyebrows and laughs, grabbing at them and setting them on the counter.

“I won’t ask why you had those,” he says. He disrobes quickly and pulls Harry to him, sliding his hands around his neck and kissing him deep. 

“Turn around babe,” he orders.

Harry turns and rests his palms on the marble counter, bending over slightly so his arse is stuck out. Louis trails his hands over his body, massaging his cheeks and pressing kisses down his spine. He drops to his knees and uses his thumbs to hold Harry open as he presses a kiss to his hole. Harry shudders underneath him and grips tighter at the countertop.

Louis spreads his tongue flat over Harry’s entrance and licks leisurely, doubling back to prod around the rim with the tip. He suckles at the rim and then pokes inside, wiggling around to try and get Harry loose and wet. Harry moans and hangs his head down low between his shoulders.

“Face up, love. Wanna look at you in the mirror.”

Harry’s head snaps back up and Louis holds back a growl at the sight of Harry’s face. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, mouth swollen and hung open in a silent groan.

Louis licks broadly over and over until he thinks Harry’s wet enough and then reaches for the packet of lube. He rips it open with his teeth and spills it over his fingers, leaving a little in the packet for later. He brings his hand down and presses his index finger inside of Harry’s hole. Harry whines and pushes his arse backward, silently asking for more. Louis brings his middle finger to Harry’s rim and pushes it inside to join the other, scissoring them and then thrusting, repeating the action until Harry’s wiggling and whining beneath him. He wriggles a third inside, reveling in the tight heat squeezing his fingers.

He takes his time with his fingers, but he’s mindful that soon the movie will be over and people will come knocking at the bathroom door. It sends a thrill of mischief through his body, knowing that no one knows what he and Harry are doing right now. They could easily be caught if some employee comes knocking at the door, ordering they leave, but that’s part of the thrill. 

He thrusts his fingers a few more times, jabbing them right at Harry’s prostate to get him especially needy and whiny for release, and then withdraws. He rips open the condom packet and rolls it down his cock and then grabs for the lube packet, spreading the rest over his length.

He lines himself up with Harry’s hole and then looks up, locking his eyes with Harry’s in the mirror. Harry’s eyes are dark and hungry as he bites his lip and stares Louis down. 

As Louis presses inside, he watches Harry’s face, cataloging every reaction, every facial tic. Harry’s mouth opens as he moans, eyes clenching shut. He fights to keep his head up, knowing Louis wants to watch him. With one final push, Louis bottoms out, hips nestled against Harry’s arse.

The knuckles of Harry’s hand are white as they grip the countertop. Louis fits his palm over Harry’s hand and moves his other to rub soothing circles into Harry’s hip.

“Tell me when to move, Harry,” Louis murmurs.

Harry nods and wiggles his bum, asking without words for Louis to move.

Louis pulls back until he’s almost completely withdrawn, and then slams back inside, knocking Harry against the countertop. Harry’s cock bobs above the marble, swollen and leaking. Harry whines loudly and cries, eyes clenched shut with moisture pulling at the corners.

“Fuck me, Lou, just fuck me,” he begs.

Louis does as Harry asks, fucking deep and hard into Harry’s yielding body. He watches in the mirror as Harry’s skin becomes flushed everywhere, cheeks nearly scarlet in pleasure. 

“Such a good boy, Harry,” Louis pants. “Just standing here taking my cock like this. Letting me use you. Bet you’re getting off on the fact that anyone could come knocking at any minute and hear you in here, know that you’re getting fucked. You love that, don’t you baby?”

Harry keens and nods his head, struggling to open his eyes to lock gazes with Louis. He sniffles and moans, turning his head to beg for a kiss as Louis thrusts faster, hitting that spot inside of Harry that’ll send him into a tailspin.

“Fuck me so good, Louis, love it, love it, love you,” he whimpers against Louis’ mouth.

Louis gasps, trying not to read too hopefully into his aroused babbling, but he finds himself slowing, pumping inside with more care. He drags Harry up as much as he can so that he can fit their mouths together. In contrast to their fucking, their kiss is simple and sweet, just an intimate press of their lips. Louis reaches down to tug at Harry’s leaking cock, twisting the head at the end of each stroke. 

Harry wails and bucks into Louis’ grip, coming undone fast. With just a few more strokes, Harry stills and jerks in Louis’ hand, spilling out over his fist.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it, good boy,” Louis croons. His hips are still pistoning inside of him, but Harry doesn’t complain, just hangs his head and thrusts his arse out, asking for Louis to use him as he pleases.

It’s with that action that Louis comes, spilling inside the condom, jerking into Harry’s arse slower and slower until he just rests inside, spent. 

He takes his cock out and spins Harry in arms to give him a hug. He presses butterfly kisses along his collarbones, his chest, his throat, his jaw, and finally his lips.

“You were so good, Harry, so lovely,” he mutters, pressing each compliment into his skin. 

Harry wiggles tiredly but happily, nuzzling his nose into Louis’ neck. 

After a moment of cuddles, when both are feeling less overwhelmed with emotion and more relaxed, Louis asks the question.

“We’re, like, together now aren’t we?”

Harry giggles and nods excitedly. Louis waits a moment and then grins. “I’m dating a baby now. A little toddler. I’ve robbed the cradle.”

“Heeeeeeyyyy,” Harry complains, shoving gently at Louis’ shoulder.

“My baby, though,” Louis says fondly, and just, ugh. Months ago Louis would’ve gagged at this exchange, but now – now he has Harry. Lovely, lovely Harry.

***

It doesn’t necessarily get easier for them as time goes on. The next few months are a whirlwind of work and promotions, leaving little time for each other. They still can’t hang out publicly without raising questions, so they settle for secret dates every couple weeks at their houses.

And then, one day, months and months later, maybe Harry posts a picture on Twitter. Maybe it’s a picture of Louis and him cuddling (shirtless) in bed with Harry’s cat Muffy. Maybe it’s captioned “Got my boyfriend wrapped around her little tail…” 

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> yahtzeeeeeeee this fic was longer than any of my others and it almost killed me so COMMENT and do the other things idk u don't have to maybe this was trash in which case i guess u can comment and tell me it was trash altho that's RUDE
> 
>  
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://www.cheerleaderharry.tumblr.com) !!!!


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